Chapter 9 A BUSY NIGHT IN QUEBEC

"I don't understand," Alex said, peering through the curtain, "why he should want to do anything to us. Perhaps he won't notice us at all."

"Don't you ever think he won't," grinned Case. "Didn't I truss him up like a hen in the cabin and threaten to arrest him, and didn't he declare that he would shoot me if he ever got a chance? Don't you believe he'll let us get out of here without trouble!"

"Oh, well," Alex replied, "if he starts anything we'll get out all right in spite of him, and in spite of his wharf rats."

"I've got an idea," Case said, watching the collection of roughly-dressed boys sitting about a table in the other room, "that that kid has been waiting in Quebec for us."

"What shall we do, then," Alex asked still in a whisper. "Shall we make a break and get out right now?"

"We may as well wait and see what takes place," Case answered. "This is a pretty tough joint, I guess, and some one may start something. In that case, we can get out while they are beating each other up."

The lunches ordered were now brought by the waiter, and the boys fell to, although, as may well be imagined, without much appetite. Max sat with his face turned toward the curtain, evidently trying to discover whether his enemies were using the alcove. He had seen the boys enter the restaurant, but was not quite certain as to which room they had seated themselves in. His face was watchful and vicious.

Half an hour passed and the situation did not change, then Alex plucked Case by the sleeve, motioning toward the outer door.

"We may as well move," he said. "It is getting late, and the streets are now growing more unsafe every minute because of such night prowlers as you see out there. It we've got to fight, we may as well begin."

But it was not necessary for them to start the engagement, as Max came to the alcove directly and drew the curtain roughly aside. The boys remained in their seats, grinning up at him, but their hands under the cover of the table grasped their automatics.

"Hello!" Alex said presently. "We never expected to meet you here."

"Oh, I had an idea you'd be along," Max said with an ugly frown.

"Come on in and set down," Case urged with a chuckle. "I'd like to have you tell me why you disappeared so suddenly."

"That's a nice question to ask!" Max snarled. "You tie me up like a pig in the cabin and then wonder why I get out of your clutches!"

"You had a little swim for it, didn't you?" asked Case.

"Yes," was the reply, "and I'll make you sweat for every drop of water I swallowed during that long dive. I'll show you a thing or two!"

"What was there in that job for you, anyway?" asked Alex. "We've got a new manila cable charged up to you."

"Mark the bill down on ice," snorted Max, "and lay the ice on the stove. You did me dirt there and I'm going to get even!"

"Go as far as you like," said Case. "We are here to answer all questions."

Max, who had been standing in the entrance to the alcove, with the curtain half over his shoulder, now turned and beckoned to the rough-looking boys gathered about the table he had just left.

"Friends of yours?" asked Alex as the others gathered about the alcove. "They look as if they might be."

The boys outside now began jostling each other roughly, as if preparing to start a fake fight among themselves. That, as Alex and Case well knew, is an old, old trick in the underworld. Whenever an enemy is to be attacked, it is common practice for the assailants to start a fight among themselves, being certain that their enemies are dealt most of the blows. Many an apparently innocent bystander has been murdered in that way.

The proprietor of the place came rushing out of an inner room as the toughs hustled each other back and forth and timidly remonstrated with them. It was evident that he stood in fear of the gang. The boys saw that no help might be expected from him.

At last one of the toughs received a blow which, apparently, forced him inside the alcove, then the whole crowd rushed in, swarming over Alex and Case like the wharf rats they were. The boys drew their revolvers, but did not fire. Instead they sprang to the top of the table and used the handles of their weapons to good purpose.

In the meantime the proprietor was running back and forth from the alcove to the door and from the door to the alcove, urging the boys to act "like little gentlemen," and at the same time shouting for the police. But no officers made their appearance.

The weight of humanity on the table upon which the boys were standing now brought it down with a crash to the floor. The situation was becoming serious, and the boys were preparing to use their guns when an unexpected event occurred.

The night being warm, the street door was wide open, but a little crowd had gathered about it. Disturbances were frequent in that place, however, and none of the onlookers seemed inclined to interfere.

As they stood looking, a heavy body catapulted against their shoulders, and the next moment the heavy body of a white bulldog leaped over their heads into the room.

The toughs in the alcove, who had just settled down to a steady pommeling of the boys with their bare fists, turned for an instant as sharp claws clattered over the floor, and some of them stepped aside. Then Captain Joe leaped atop of the struggling mass and began a vigorous exercise of his very capable teeth.

In a second the whole place was in confusion. Patrons rushed out from other rooms, the proprietor appeared from behind the desk bearing a revolver. There was an inrush from the street, and then two pistol shots sounded. As the acrid smell of powder smoke seeped into the air, there was a rattle of glass and the two ceiling lights were extinguished.

Save for the uncertain light from incandescents in the other alcoves, the place was now in darkness, except for the illumination which came in from the street.

Cries, shouts and epithets of the vilest character rang through the place. Long before the light of the gas jets could be turned on, the boys and the dog were out on the pavement, making good progress toward a policeman in uniform, who appeared under an arc light not far away. The officer held up his heavy night stick as the boys approached him.

The sound of running feet came out and in a moment the officer and the two boys were surrounded by the wharf rats who had been in the restaurant. The officer promptly drew a revolver.

"What's doing here!" he demanded. "Who did that shooting back there?"

"These two boys did it!" Max promptly explained, pointing at Alex and Case. "They shot out the lights and robbed the till!"

The officer put up his revolver and his night stick, seized Alex and Case by the shoulders, and started off up the street, the toughs following at his heels. There was a patrol box on the next corner and the boys attempted no defence of their conduct until this was reached. As the policeman turned the key he glanced quickly from one face to the other.

"What have you boys got to say for yourselves?" he asked.

"We'll tell that to the judge," replied Alex.

"Come, now, don't get gay!" the officer said. "You don't look like boys who would be apt to get into a scrape like that."

The boys were so pleased at having escaped from the restaurant with whole heads that they did not much mind the arrest. In fact, just at that moment the officer was about the most welcome person who could have made his appearance, with the exception of Captain Joe, of course.

The dog now stood close by the patrol box showing his teeth and asking Alex for permission to take the officer by the leg.

"We haven't robbed any tills lately!" Alex said, wrinkling his freckled nose at the officer.

"Lookout!" one of the boys shouted from the crowd. "That bulldog will get you, officer. He chewed up two boys back in the restaurant.

"Good old Captain Joe," exclaimed Alex, patting the dog on the head.

The dog did not for a moment lose sight of a spot on the officer's thigh, which seemed to invite attack.

"Is that your dog?" asked the policeman.

"Sure, that's our dog," answered Alex.

"And what did you say his name was?"

"Captain Joe."

The officer released his hold on the boys and leaned against the patrol box. The police wagon was now in sight, racing down the street with a great jangling of bells, and the crowd around the officer began to thin. They had evidently seen that wagon before.

"Say, Mr. Officer," Alex said, "why don't you grab a couple of those boys? They are going to be witnesses against us, you know."

The officer made no reply, but reached down and patted Captain Joe on the head, an action which the dog strongly resented.

"Did you say the dog ate a couple of wharf rats back there?" asked the officer, turning to the diminishing crowd.

"You bet he did!" half a dozen voices cried in chorus. "He's a holy terror."

"I've got a hole in my leg you could push a chair through," one of them shouted. "Arrest him!"

The police wagon now backed up to the curb and the boys stepped inside followed by Captain Joe.

"Here!" questioned the man in charge of the wagon, "are you going in with us, off your beat, and are you going to arrest the dog? He looks like a hard citizen!"

"Not a bit of it!" answered the officer. "He chewed up two wharf rats back there, according to all accounts, and I'm going in to tell the sergeant, and to ask the captain to give him a medal. If he had only killed them, I'd try to get him on the pension list."

"Say," Case remarked, "you seem to be an all-right policeman. I guess you know that bunch back there."

"Every officer in the city knows that bunch," replied the policeman. "When they're not in the penitentiary, they're making trouble for the force. They ought to get a hundred years apiece."

"What will we get for shooting out the lights?" asked Alex.

"So you did shoot out the lights!"

"We didn't do anything else," declared Alex.

"Say, Mr. Cop, you've seen terriers go after a rat in a pit, haven't you?" asked Case. "Well, that's just the way that gang went after us. We'd be dead now if Captain Joe hadn't run away from the Rambler and followed us."

"There!" cried the officer clapping Alex on the back, "I've been trying to think of that name ever since I saw the dog. We've got pictures of this dog and the Rambler and a grizzly bear called Teddy pasted up in the squad room. We cut them out of newspapers six months ago when you boys were somewhere out on the Columbia river."

"On the Colorado river," corrected Case. "We found Teddy Bear in a a timber wreck on the Columbia, and he never had his picture taken until we got to San Francisco."

"Is the Rambler down on the river now?" asked the officer, and Case nodded. "Because, if it is," the policeman went on, "some one had better be getting down there! The wharf rats will eat it up before morning, plank by plank!"

"How are we going to get down there if you lock us up?" asked Case.

"You may not be locked up," was the reply.